Thursday, December 12, 2013

Well... Bless Her Little White Heart

As you can probably tell from the title of this post, I am in what my mother would have called, "a shit-disturbing mood."  Sorry.  But, at least it is a jovial shit-disturbing mood.

Anyhow, Megyn Kelly of Fox News made some amusing statements this morning (I think it was this morning) concerning Santa Claus and Jesus being white men.  The whole thing kind of made me chuckle.  If I were as cute and perky as Megyn, I wonder if somebody would pay me a large amount of money to say amusing things on TV.  I bet I would be good at that sort of job.  Perhaps I could go on "The View."  You don't seem to need to be quite as cute and perky to go on "The View." 

But, Megyn's amusing statements are not the subject of this post.  I only mention Megyn and her editorializing because they remind me of an anecdote from my young adulthood, which I will now recount for your entertainment.

My father's mother (my Nana) passed away when I was 12 years old.  As she and my grandfather lived across the street from us, my mother kindly took it upon herself to have Grandpa over for dinner after Nana's death.  Every. Single. Night.  Except for Sunday nights -- because that's when he went on dates with his various girlfriends. 

I hope it doesn't sound like I'm complaining about my grandpa coming over for dinner.  Every. Single. Night.  Except for Sundays.  I'm really not.  It's just that he was EXCEPTIONALLY opinionated.  And he listened to the news 24/7.  (Thank God that there was no Fox News at the time.)  And he was a rather outspoken individual, at least to his relatives and friends. 

Grandpa hailed from Italy.  In the village where he lived, children were required to attend school through the third grade.  Grandpa didn't make it that far.  He played "hookie" most every day, as he explained it to us.  He was also -- naturally -- a Catholic.  Went to church each Sunday, without fail, his entire life.

So, one day, Grandpa came over -- as per usual -- for dinner.  He sat down at the table and loudly announced to the family, "Now they're trying to say that Jesus was a Jew."

My two sisters, my father, my mother, and I all looked up at him.  I said, "But, Grandpa, Jesus WAS a Jew."

"Huh," he replied.  "I always thought he was Italian."

"Why did you think that?" my father asked.

"Well...  The Pope is always Italian,"  Grandpa remarked, the logic of his thinking impeccable.  (Mind you, this was before the days of John Paul II).

"But, Grandpa," one of my sisters said, "didn't you notice in the Gospels that Jesus was born in Bethlehem and traveled around Galilee and Jerusalem and such?"

"Oh, I never pay attention to that," answered my grandfather.

I did not ask him -- and I have often wondered -- what it was he was thinking about during all those Masses on all those Sundays for 80-plus years. 

So, thank-you for the memories, Miss Megyn.  Bless your little white heart. ;-)

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